True God
by Bard's Soul
Summary: How will they build the Republic of Heaven? Will discovers the answer-and begins the proccess-in a college lecture hall in Oxford, then at a religious conference in England.
1. Default Chapter

"…Since it's founding by Peter the Rock, the Catholic Church has continually and tirelessly spread God's Word. By its most Holy work of love, all men shall come into their own in the Kingdom of Heaven, standing at the right of the Father and the Son…"

"You're wrong."

The voice was quite, so quite one might have missed it—that is if it wasn't for that hard iron edge in its tone—the iron edge of immovable surety.

The professor looked up, shocked that someone would interrupt his lecture.

"And who, may ask, said that?" he asked, scanning the rows of maybe 100 students—some looking around, others staring off into space, others still scribbling notes.

"I did."

The professor looked up towards the upper right hand corner of the lecture hall, to find a student he didn't recognize, one with black, slightly unkempt hair and dark eyes.

"And why would you—the student—think me—the professor—wrong?" By now most of the students were aware of the dangerous tone of his voice, exchanging glances between the professor and the student in question.

"Was it love that lead to the Inquisition? To the torture and death of hundreds—thousands of innocent lives? Was it love that brought about the prosecution of the Goddess traditions in Europe? Or the Native tribes in America? Or the Jews and Muslims in Jerusalem?"

"The first commandment tells us to 'love the Lord our God.' The groups you just mentioned—these _pagans_," he said the word with considerable malice, "—did not. The civilized Christians of the time did what they thought best to bring them the Word," the professor said, his eyes narrowing, "If it wasn't for their work, those peoples would still be ignorant and damned to Hell."

Suddenly, the feeling in the lecture hall changed—even those who previously were staring into space could feel the tension—the _power_—in the air. As one, the mass of students turned in their seats, finding the young man with dark hair to be standing silently, eyes glaring at the professor.

Those eyes… everyone, the professor included, felt their intensity, their glare. They all could not look away, yet could not meet him eye to eye. They didn't dare—his presence filling the hall was palpable as it was, none wanted to—or could—meet it head on.

"The Word of God," he began, "of which you speak is the propaganda of control. The God who dolled out commands, seeking to crush and hold all in his grasp, is false. All he did was hoard wisdom, hoard truth, to keep us blind to ourselves and the love around us, and see only _him_!"

The young man looked around him, staring into his audience's eyes, and spread his arms wide.

"_We_ are the true God!" he said, gesturing to those seated about him, then down to the professor, "Matter, _life_, is the true God," he continued gesturing out the window, then to himself.

"All that loves is Holy; to love God and to love your neighbor _are_ indeed the greatest commandments. But is it love to _dominate_ and _control_? Is it love to work only for ones self? To take and never give? Is it love to hoard true and wisdom, but not to teach and rear?"

He looked about the room once more, and some of the more observant students could see something more in his eyes—beneath the fiery passion and presence—something soft and pure. If any had the fortune to experience it like he, they would recognize it as the deepest of love. But none had, and so none could know.

"Jesus came and _told_ you this," he said, pointing violently at the professor below, "but still you are blind, just as his closest of male disciples. They could not let go of the need to dominate—the need to control—and so twisted his message of inclusion and love into one of power and command. Why else do you think he invited whores to the table, but the church refuses to even _accept_ sexuality?

"Have _any_ of you truly loved?" he asked, staring down at them from his now seemingly enormous height, "have _any _of you truly felt a lover's touch on your _very soul_?"

Looking around, the young man found down cast eyes and empty stares.

Turning back to the professor, he said, "Then you have no idea of what Jesus taught."

In that moment, some of the more sensitive in the room could almost see something beside this…priest. A form, proud and strong, sharing his eyes, deep and dark, brightened by something so strong that it radiated past her black shadowy fur…

But the moment was lost as he spoke once more.

"You speak of Eden as something lost, held only by purity, and of Heaven as something out of reach, attainable only by submission and innocence. Humph… I have seen the Kingdom of Heaven, and no pure souls resided within it's clouded walls. And I have seen Hell, and the 'damned' are not the only ones to cross its shores."

Somehow, the light coming through the windows seemed dulled, and the speaker, his shoulders slumped, seemed to draw within himself painfully, and all present could not help but see the truth in his words.

"No!" he shouted, straightening once more, "_This_ is Eden! _This_ is our Heaven. But we have to work _together _to make it so. Paradise cannot be achieved by hate and dominion; only by communion and love can we reach its shores. Forgive, share, teach. Seek out and learn, and love what you find. Hold it in a lover's embrace and give back to it like a mother to her child… How else can we continue to live on this Earth? How else can we form it into Heaven, unless we love life for what it is and what we have?

"Or would you rather have a world were the rich and powerful grow fatter on the misery of others? A world where the church controls all, and abducts children to look into their souls? A world where greed rules like a plague, sucking the life—the souls—out of men and women, leaving the children to fester in fear and hate? For that is what we will have if we continue on this path. Already it has lead to cooperate scandal, abuse of power—both secular and religious—and the destruction of the earth and lives around us.

"When they ask you for your story," he asked the room, "what will you tell? That you encouraged growth? That you helped—even just a little—to build a paradise—a real live Eden? Or that you let others bind you to slavery, letting the few control and rise above the many? Or—even worse—that you _encouraged_ such a world, beating down on the lives of others for your own gain?"

As he asked this, he looked every person in the eye, his gaze pounding on their soul like the sun's blaze, and each felt the dire need in his words. Each person felt _moved_ by his presence, though not a hand or foot even stirred.

"I have told my story," the young man—the priest—said, taking a hold of his bag, "Go and tell yours."

And with that he left the room, an awed silence echoing in his wake.

TG…TG…TG 

Will walked down the path towards the bench, Kirjava's comforting presence as she walked beside him, warming his leg from the chilly December air.

Reaching the bench, he sat down, a smile playing on his lips as he absently stroked his daemon's fur.

"I understand, Lyra," he told the sky. "I finally understand what it is I must do."

And though it was not Midsummer—in fact it was about as far from it as it could be—Will could feel her presence beside him, comforting him with her joyful eyes and mischievous smile.

_I'm glad, Will_, he heard her say, _I'm glad._

TG…TG…TG 

Just my take on Will's path, as well as a rebuttal of sorts to the surge of fundamentalism—Christian, Muslim, all of it—that seems to be taking the world by storm. (Thank you George Dubya Bush and Tim LaHay!)

Please Review. Thanks.


	2. Parables

Disclaimer: I do not own HDM, though the books do reflect my own religious beliefs, which are mine.

TGTGTGTG 

"So you don't believe in God?" Angus Sheridan asked the man sitting before him.

"No." The answer was short and… not curt, so much as… sure.

"Then what do you believe in?" Angus asked, "Obviously you believe in _some_ kind of God if you're here."

The man paused for a moment, casting a glance at the many priests, theologians and pastors attending the conference.

"I believe in the Spirit."

"You mean in the human spirit?" Angus questioned, becoming more intrigued by this man the more they talked.

"That, and the Spirit of the universe, of life," he said looking into Angus' eyes as he did.

"What do you mean?" Angus replied, startled by the intensity behind those dark eyes.

"You've taken classes on other religions," the man asked, "Buddhism, Gnosticism, etc., correct?"

"I'll be taking an Eastern Religions course next semester," Angus answered, ashamed to admit that he had yet to complete his Religious Seminar education.

But his companion didn't seem at all phased by this, and instead continued, saying, "One of the cornerstones of Buddhism and many forms of faith which are considered 'pagan' by many Christians is the belief that our souls are not individual, but part of a greater whole, one which is comprised of everything living. Everything has an eternal soul, whether it be man, woman, tree, frog, cat, insect, grass, fish, bird or even the dirt itself—many extend this belief to the Earth herself as well."

"And you're one of those?" Angus hazarded a guess, sensing that his explanation was at an end.

He merely nodded in reply, a slight, satisfied smirk on his lips as he raised his mug of tea to his lips.

Angus was about to continue his questioning when he was interrupted by the sudden zealous outburst of the speaker on the simulcast system behind him. Sharply turning around, he saw that the speaker on the screen was practically yelling from the podium, holding aloft what looked like The Holy Bible.

"I can't stand Jehovah's Witnesses."

Surprised by the sudden and passionate anger in his companion's voice, Angus turned back around in his seat.

"They may be a little strict and overzealous about doctrine," he replied carefully, "but they're only doing what they believe is right."

"Proclaiming that Jesus Christ is the one and _only_ Salvation is anything _but_ right."

Any response to this truly startling comment (Angus could've almost sworn he felt himself jump) was interrupted by the arrival of a new voice in the conversation.

"God wants to save you, you know. He forgives you even if you refuse to believe. " The speaker's face was one of pity and forgiveness, looking down at Angus and his companion from where he stood.

Angus' companion suddenly snorted then shook his head slightly, accompanied by a few quite chuckles. "If he"—Angus could _hear_ the lack of capitalization in his voice—"has already forgiven me," he asked, "why would I need saving?"

The newcomer puffed out his chest importantly, obviously insulted by this man's attitude.

"To go to Heaven, of course," he replied, and Angus noticed the nametag on his chest, reading in bold 'JOHN FINTAN,' and realized that he hadn't noticed his companion's curious lack of identification until now.

"You really believe that don't you?" said companion asked, almost sadly.

"I have the Truth, that is all I need," John Fintan replied stiffly. Despite wanting to remain a neutral observer, Angus couldn't help but notice that his voice now seemed to carry a certain 'holier than thou' attitude with it.

The dark haired man's eyes hardened, and that depth and intensity that Angus saw earlier transformed into a powerful and cutting gaze.

"The Truth?" he asked, "You know nothing of the Truth."

"What?!" Fintan practically screamed, "_You_ are the one who has been tricked by those pagan lies!"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because as soon as Fintan did, the other stood. Angus did a double take—as did the other observers (the argument had quickly drawn a crowd)—he didn't even see the man move! One moment he was sitting in an almost unassuming position, the next he was standing erect in front of Fintan, glaring piercingly into the other's eyes.

Fintan apparently couldn't hold that gaze, stepping back and breaking eye contact quickly. "You can not trick me sir," he said, "I am in the Righteous' favor!"

The mysterious man seemed to collect himself at this, his considerable presence calming to a still around him—though it remained just as powerful and compelling as before—as he sighed heavily.

"I met someone like you once," he replied, looking back with calmer, yet deeper, eyes at the man before him. "He spent his entire existence proclaiming God's reign, even up to and including his death, he was sure of his faith in the Christian God. Yet despite his unwavering faith, God did not see fit to save him from the barren wasteland, crowded together with the miserable spirits trapped there, forgetting everything good in life—the sun, the sky, their friends, parents and children—only remembering the pain, the mistakes and fears. And do you know what?" This last questioned was directed all around him, to all his audience, listening intently to his story. "All he had to do was follow a little girl outside and he would have been free. His faith in his God held him back in that purgatory of a hell."

Upon the story's conclusion, he turned to look almost questioningly back at Fintan, who, despite himself, seemed just as awed by this man's presence as everyone else.

"So?" Fintan asked, finally pulling himself together, "This is the earthly world, not the Heavenly. If he believed, than he was saved." He said it like a stubborn child, resorting to their own flawed logic in the face of defeat. And despite his own Christian background and beliefs, Angus found himself doubting the validity of that statement.

The dark haired man just shook his head once more, and said quietly, "He was already dead."

It came out as a silent growl, and for a moment, Angus could almost see a shadowy form, great and majestic, by his side.

Everyone stood staring at him for a moment, then: "I-im-possible! What do you mean?" "That's fantasy! You can't possibly expect us to believe that story!"

"Yet you believe a man could walk on water and rise from the dead?" The dark haired man said it softly, yet he commanded his audience without mercy, and the various religious scholars and leaders silenced their outcries almost instantly.

Fintan chose this moment to reclaim his dignity, shouting, "He was the Son of God!"

"As are we. As are we," was the dark haired man's only reply.

Grabbing his bag off his chair, the man turned around, walking away from the confused Fintan and crowd. But after only a few steps, he paused and looked over his left shoulder and addressed the crowd once more.

"Just remember to tell them stories," he said, "Like I have. Like Jesus did."

It was only then that Angus noticed the man's left hand, and could only stare at the scared flesh that once held his little and ring fingers. Felling the man's gaze on him, Angus broke his stare long enough to raise his head and look at the man's seeking eyes. The man nodded slightly, and it was then that Angus knew, absolutely _knew_, that this man spoke the truth.

And as the dark haired pagan priest turned and left the conference, Angus couldn't help but wonder what he had gone through to see dead men in hell and stand like an immovable mountain of faith in a sea of anger and hate.

TGTGTGTG 

While the first chapter seemed to focus Will's more aggressive side, I thought that this side of him is more along the lines of what was required of him; building and inspiring others, rather than challenging opposing beliefs.

Also, I felt like I had to reply somehow to Jean's review-that-wasn't-a-review of Mother's Web, which was more a rant about how I don't know God, and how he wants to forgive me. I'm sorry, Jean, but _this_ is my belief, my faith.

Please review!


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